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Mepth Youngblood
((Mature content inside. Expect gore in some chapters. You have been warned.)) 'Birth of a scapegoat' Candle lights filled the dark room, filled with the silhouettes of many hunched men and women, tending the the female they encircled. The sounds of labor filled the room as Lucy pushed to give birth to her child, working to bring into life that which she and her husband had created. She crushed her husband's hand tight in her own, Johnathon in return held on tightly to hers, wincing slightly from her grip. Her screams overpowered the small, soft chanting held by the select few in the group.In the hands of those who chanted was a goblet, filled to the brim with a foul smelling liquid. Dark crimson with swirls of green and black. The stench alone was enough to make someone gag or think of rotting flesh. With a final, defiant yell Lucy had pushed once more and out came her child. Slowly guided out by the elder in the group. He held the child by his ankle and swiftly spanked the crimson covered rear. The newborn of course cried out in pain and was swiftly cleaned off of the gore and fluids which covered him. Mere moments later, he child was cleaned of the filth, robed in a blanket and held in his mother's arms. She smiled sweetly as she held him in one arm and held her hand out to the father. She slowly cooed to the child as Johnathon drizzled the disgusting liquid to the finger of mother, blood pouring down from her digit and onto the bed she sat in. Slowly, they fed their child. All the silhouettes turning to view their newest tool, smiling wickedly as their plans inched closer. They cheered, the goblet nowhere near empty but the blood now in the child and it still lived and drew breath. "Good job, Lucy, Johnathon. Litttle Mepth will make a fine additon." Croaked the elder. Slowly, the other members left the room, leaving the father, mother and scapegoat alone for the night. Flock of Sheep John and Lucy both cared for the newest member of their family. Cared as much as parents would. Of course, these two loved him not as a son but as something...more material. The child was placed with the other fledglings of the village. They were all left in a large sort of playpen. Runes had encircled said pen, keeping the little ones in and any unsavory visitors out. The little children simply sat and lay in their pen, many of them appearing near the same age. But...there were odd disrepencies with them all. Some looked sick, others appeared healthy as a clam and few looked simply...odd. As if their frail bodies had taken some odd change. Nothing was easily seen when it came to these. Small bumps on the skin, differing eyes and an odd demeanor to them. The little ones sat and laid where they were left, doing what babies do. Cooeing, sleeping and watching their hands as they worked to move them around. The small village was sheltered by the dense trees of Silverpine. The members in this clan were...less than acceptable in society. Budding Warlocks and necromancers comprised the group, all led by their elder. The old man was a mage, skilled in the arcane but drawn and corrupted by it's power. He seeked for more of it and found what he wanted. He used the sweet, sweet lure of the power to reel in other mages and fledglings to induldge on such forbidden bounties. As the scapegoats children laid in their spot the elder spoke. "Most excellent job my little ones..." His voice was soft and sweet but there was a hint of fauxness to it all, as if it was simply a practiced way of appearing. "We are on route...we have ten children in the pen. Most appear healthy and in working order...fit for their purpose." He nodded to the group infront of him, his wrinkled hands and lanky arms moving to his back. A jagged smile moved across his old visage as he watched them all with his bright green eyes. "We shall do all we can to keep the little ones alive. The ones who die shall be buried appropiatly. I thank you all for what you do. May the Nether guide us, may the Fel empower us and may our power be absoulte and true!" He watched as they all let out a small cheer and moved towards the pens once more. Slowly, creeping out from behind the old man was an Imp, it's fel green eyes darting from person to person, watching them as they move to pick up their young. 'Upbringing' Several years have passed since we saw the children last. They have grown older, stronger and more intelligent. At least, the ones who did not succumb to the fel energy that was pumped into their body, The steady diet of demonic ichor and blood that was given to them with each meal. Only six remained from the ten. And this has only been but five years. Mepth was now five, as was the rest. The ones who remained appeared normal, aside from two which seemed to cough and wheeze at times, mayhaps a simple cold. The adults knew better, their parents, or caretakers as would be the better term,would take good care of their precious little scapegoats, not wishing for harm or death to come upon them. Not out of love as a fruit from their loins but simply an item that cost much time and effort to create. Those that were sick were taken from the others, doing all that could be done to keep them from falling deeper into their illness. For a weakened state would allow the taint which swam in their body to take hold, digging deep into their veins and poisoning them beyond repair, forcing their bodies to shut down and their life to fade. Four, have already had such a thing happen. Now, the healthy children. They would learn the arts that were so popular in the group of Warlocks. Shadow, flames and of course,the manipulation of fel. They simply knew the very, very basics. A weak curse here and there. Mayhaps a little flame should one of the little ones fart unexpectedly. Mepth also gained a few extra skills. Learning the basics of how to embalm a corpse. Quite a delightful thing for a father to teach his son, really. Showing him the corpse of a small, hairless rabbit. Showing him how to cut it open...watching the child squeal and run away...Maybe not so delightful. One night, while the children slept, the adults all came for another meeting. There, in the middle of the large house, built for the elder of course, sat the man himself. The years have been kind, hair length alittle longer and hairs overpowered by the whites of age. His blue eyes scanned the familar faces. His own "children" and apprentices in which he has lived with for the past six years. "My children..."He began with his sweet voice, slow voice. "You have all done marvelously...while..we have lost several of our fledglings, we still have more than half. More than enough to last the coming years and surely, at least one will emerge to bear the fruits of our labors. Please, tell me of how the little ones are doing." He looked around, giving them the chance to offer it themselves first. A tall, lanky blonde man stood forth, his wife at his side. She was chubby, her skin fair and hair as dark as the midnight sky. The man, Bruce, spoke in a low, deep voice. "Mine is doing fine. Healthy as a stallion, growing fast and learning quick. I belive that he shall blossom into just what we wish for, Elder." He spoke proudly, his wife's eyes glittering with the same pride. They both offered a small bow to the old man and he in return nodded, a smile upon his face.. "Thank you, Bruce, Belinda. Johnathon, Lucy. How is yours?" His blue eyes pierced through the crowd, landing directly upon the two. They could feel his gaze like cold metal upon skin, shocking, stinging and bringing them to the now. John, having grown older and starting to get the signs of aging spoke in his deep and rough voice, the chords of his voicebox causing his words to echo as he spoke. While the man, whom's skin was pale and hair scraggily and black stood with confidence, streaks of dissapointment filled his voice. "Mine is...appearing to get Ill, Elder. He coughs and can barely drink the felhound blood that is given to him. Even when mixed with the juices of apples. It appears he wi-" He was caught off by Lucy. She was abit brash and very, very proud. Her voice was soft, and oh so elegant, like that of a very proper woman. "It appears....that he -will- be getting better. And he -will- be just what we wish, Elder. The little one won't be joining the others that have fallen." She spoke loudly, almost as if she was confirming it with some unknown force.She bowed at the end of it all. John seemed to be both enraged at the fact that she had done such a bold and intrusive action and oddly enough, in love and fawning over her.That is what he loved, her pride and just how far she would go to keep it, and her image intact. His features softened as he bowed down as well. The elder was...amused to say the least, nodding. "Thank you." The cycle went on and on, the old geezer asking each pair of parents the status of their child. Four were Healthy, two were sick. Mepth was one of the two. Even now, the child would cough in his sleep and struggle against the taint which was placed into him. Fighting against that which worked to claim him, to snuff out the little fire that was his life. It was all that the parents could do to hope that the little child would pull through. And that is what they did. They hoped and continued the same process which worked to destroy his little body. Feeding him the lifeblood of a felhound and the corrupted energy that was fel.